Mission: Impossible - III?
by dancing bohemian
Summary: Ethan's mission never seems to end. And things just keep getting more complicated. But with his quirky set of friends and peers, he'll have some great adventures. (Serial. Not overly violent but rated PG-13 just in case). Please R&R. Thanks!
1. Uncertain Beginnings

Disclaimer: I don't know who owns Ethan Hunt or Luther Stickell or IMF or anyone/anything else in their universe, but it's not me. Whoever you are, please don't sue, because I'm sick (literally) and tired (semi-literally) and don't feel like dealing with it. I also have diddly, so it's not really worth it.  
  
Author's Notes: Okay, I wrote this a long time ago, recently joined ff.net, and decided to get this back up and going since I can post it in chapters, which makes life easier. However, as I said, I wrote this a long time ago, so when I took a look at it, I was like, 'Bleh, this kinda sucks.' So I scrapped most everything I had -- except the basic premise -- and went at it again. Hopefully, it's much better now; good enough to work a series off. I'm not sure how long it'll go on, but we'll see. (It's kinda based on time constraints and reader response.) I hope you enjoy it. And remember, I love feedback! Thanks!  
  
  
Chapter 1: Uncertain Beginnings  
  
  
  
Ethan jumped up swiftly, landing on a table and narrowly missing the path of an axe. "Yeah, sure, 'Quick and easy one for ya, Ethan.' Quick and easy..." he muttered to himself.  
  
As he dodged more blows and looked around for a better strategic position, he recalled the past few months he'd spent in Morocco, searching for a certain informant who had information on a certain very big, very illegal weapons deal. The informant, however, had turned out to be a double agent, one who was getting paid a lot of money in exchange for delivering Ethan to his superiors. Ethan was currently trying to prevent the informant from collecting.  
  
"Give up, and perhaps I will not be so harsh when I kill you." The man's sneer revealed a mouth full of yellow and black teeth.  
  
"Only if you tell me the name of your dentist."  
  
Using the time it took his opponent to understand the joke, Ethan manuvered his way to a narrow hall in which the axe could only move up and down.  
  
"Why you... SWINE!" The man charged, baring the axe wildly above his head. "For that insult I will cut you from head to toe!"  
  
Ethan grabbed a metal pipe from the ground and blocked the axe's swing. "Well," he said through grunts of effort, "since that was probably your plan anyway, I think it was fairly worth it."  
  
Ethan's left knee came up sharply into the other man's gut, and as soon as that foot touched the ground his right leg vaulted the man over Ethan's head and into the wall behind him. Unlike Ethan, this man was not IMF-trained and therefore could not withstand any and all attacks short of a nuclear bomb placed directly on his skull. Ethan approached the poor individual, who was slumped half upside-down against the stone. The axe had broken his fall and cut deep into his own thigh.  
  
"So tell me, where can I find the stolen artillery?"  
  
"I-I-I don't know. I am only hired to lure you."  
  
Ethan smiled but showed no sign of amusement. "Right. You're just doing your job, is that it?"  
  
The broken man tried to right himself a little and backed further away, clutching his bleeding leg. "Yes yes, that's it, nothing personal."  
  
Shaking his head, Ethan picked up the axe, gave a look full of pity when the man quivered, and tossed it carelessly behind him. "Funny, how nothing is ever personal. Men try to trick, defeat, or kill me all the time, but it's never ever personal." Ethan crouched down next to him and grabbed him by the neck. "Either you tell me where to find the weapons, or I snap your neck right here and now."  
  
His eyes wide with terror, he gulped and began to hyperventilate. "The no-no-north warehouse at-at-at the ha-ha-harbor!"  
  
Ethan's fingers deftly sought the pressure points at the base of the man's throat. "Thanks. Nothing personal."  
  
  
  
  
  
A couple hours and a lot of dead thugs later, Ethan was helping a small IMF team to load hundreds of millions of dollars worth of stolen missiles and bombs onto a secure plane.  
  
"Good job, Hunt."  
  
Ethan looked up to see the IMF officer who'd assigned him the mission walking towards him. He gave a brisk nod of acknowledgement before returning to his task of securing one of the larger cruise missiles.  
  
When he looked down, his case agent's shiny brown shoes were only inches from him.  
  
He looked up again. "Something you wanted, sir?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Ethan waited a beat.  
  
"Swanbeck, may I suggest you just say it?"  
  
The older man smiled, the crow's feet at the corners of his blue eyes deepening. "Hunt, you always were one to get straight to the point. No pissing around." He cleared his throat. "I'll always liked that about you."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I'm retiring, Ethan."  
  
"Oh." He might not have said much, but Swanbeck could tell all that he needed to know from the look in Ethan's eyes.  
  
"Yes, well, I just thought you should know. Russell Manning's your man now."  
  
Ethan stood and nodded.  
  
"Very well, that's all." Swanbeck just kept looking at him. "Good job, Hunt."  
  
"You said that already, sir." Ethan stepped forward and, wrapping one arm around his shoulder, clapped the older man on the back. Swanbeck blinked, then, after a moment's hesitation, returned the embrace.  
  
"Keep safe, kid."  
  
  
  
  
  
Luther frowned. "Listen, if you fry one more circuit, our deal is off."  
  
One thin, impeccably defined eyebrow lifted. "I'm sorry," she said in a dangerously soft tone. "Were you under the impression that you were in control here?"  
  
Wisely, he said nothing.  
  
"Good, I didn't think so. Well then, let's get on with it, shall we? We haven't got much time before Ethan comes back."  
  
  
  
  
  
After debriefing one last time with Swanbeck at IMF headquarters, Ethan found himself on yet another plane, this one headed for Italy.  
  
Ethan beamed as he leaned back in his seat. His smile faded briefly when he thought of Sean Ambrose's comment about "grinning like an idiot" but returned a minute later. The bastard was dead. Who cared what he'd said.  
  
"Not me," he whispered, closing his eyes and taking a sip of his refreshingly cold beverage. His latest mission was over, he'd barely gotten scratched, and he was going home. What more could he possibly ask of life?  
  
Within hours he'd be in Rome. There, a little villa with stone walls and curving stairs waited for him. A woman, both beautiful and cunning, waited for him.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ethan pulled into the garage, wondering for the millionth time why he hadn't insisted on more security. Or any security, for that matter. An entry code at the gate and a burglar alarm hardly amounted to much. He imagined his enemies would laugh if they knew how lax he was being. As he grabbed his black bag and unplugged his cell phone from its charger, he decided he really would have to make some adjustments. A sensor grid, a weapons locker, maybe a few proximity mines...  
  
Suddenly all thoughts of the safety precautions slipped blissfully out of his head.  
  
She was standing in front of him, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Her hair was ruffled, her flannel pajamas wrinkled, but damn, she was beautiful.  
  
"Hi. Did I wake you?" he asked, dropping his bag and coming forward to wrap his arms around her.  
  
She nodded slowly with a happy grin. "The garage door is very loud." Her tone was almost childish, but when she laughed, there was a throaty quality that only a mature woman could possess. "But I don't care. I missed you."  
  
He kissed her softly on the lips. "I missed you, too." He twirled her around so that they were side-by-side, picked up his suitcase, and strolled with her through the doorway. A large bay window gave a spectacular view of the dark sky, providing the couple with a natural backdrop of stars. "So I'm curious. How exactly did you survive without me?"  
  
A sly smile crept onto her face. "Oh, I did this and that." She didn't think it would be wise to tell him exactly what 'this and that' entailed. "Mostly I just lay in bed, waiting for you to come home."  
  
"Oh really?" He placed the suitcase on the kitchen counter, not releasing his hold on her waist. "Well now I feel bad. After all those sleepless nights you must have spent wishing I were here, I come home and wake you up. That doesn't seem fair. We can go back to bed and sleep if you want."  
  
"Bed, yes. Sleep, no."  
  
  
  
  
  
She barely heard the high, frequent chirps of the communications station over her own laughter. Scraping the slop from her face, she called out, "I'll be right back. Don't you dare try to cook without me. You're simply awful at it!" She grinned down at her ruined clothes and made her way to the control room, careful not to shed food onto the floor coverings.  
  
Her smile faded. "Ethan..."  
  
His muscular form filled the doorway. From the odd lines criss-crossing his shirt, it was obvious that he too had attempted to dislodge food from himself. "What is it?" he asked, sheer happiness still brightening his eyes.  
  
"Ethan, you'd better read it."  
  
Looking from her to the computer screen, he stepped closer to scan the message. "Damn."The simplicity of the word belied the force behind it.  
  
"Looks like you won't be getting much of a break after all."  
  
"They promised me at least two weeks off. Not that it's enough, but it's something."  
  
"Not anymore," she said softly.  
  
He sighed. "I'm sorry, but you know I don't have a choice. This isn't exactly a nine-to-five job."  
  
"I know."  
  
The tone of her voice seemed to imply something, but he wasn't sure what, so he let it drop. "You go on back to the kitchen. I'm just going to read this and report back." She nodded, and left him alone.  
  
He clicked a few buttons on the screen and initiated the reply sequence. A few minutes later there was a knock at his door. He opened it, took the package from the man in the suit, and carried it back to the office.  
  
Inside was a headset with a small glass screen attached to the right side. Ethan put it on.  
  
'Hello, Mr. Hunt.' Though he'd only heard it once or twice before, Ethan immediately recognized Manning's voice. 'Your mission, should you choose to accept it...'  
  
  
  
  
  
In a rather needlessly large conference room on the sixth floor of IMF headquarters, Ethan sat at an oval table of a rich cherry wood. On his left, at the head of the table, was Russell Manning, a tall man on the shy side of sixty, with a build that told of his active youth. He was one of the legends at IMF, or would have been if he hadn't botched just one mission, one very important mission. After that he'd been politely, quietly asked to accept a desk job. Still, he'd earned quite a lot of respect and commanded it effectively.  
  
Opposite of Ethan sat George MacIntyre, a fellow mission agent, known for his successful ops and even more successful love life. While Ethan may not have found the thick black hair or thin-rimmed glasses attractive, he appreciated the well-defined muscles and sharp mind for details. From a professional point of view, of course. Both were great assets in a mission parter.  
  
Ethan cleared his throat. "So, what exactly are we waiting for?"  
  
Manning smiled, poured himself a glass of water. "The third member of your team."  
  
Surprised, Ethan tilted his head. "Third? I wasn't aware there was going to be anyone else. Who is he?"  
  
Manning's smile widened. "It's not a he."  
  
Ethan shot a look at George. "Hear that, Mac? IMF's actually providing you with the girl this time."  
  
He chuckled and shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Not her."  
  
"You know who it is? What's the problem, she's not your type?"  
  
"Oh no, she's my type. Beautiful, clever, skilled--"  
  
"Breathing?" Ethan offered.  
  
All three laughed. "That too," George admitted. "Unfortunately, she's already taken."  
  
"Has that ever stopped you before?"  
  
"First time for everything."  
  
"Oh? Well, then I'll assume whoever it is is quite the guy if he's got you keeping your distance."  
  
George shrugged. "You'll understand when she gets here."  
  
"Oh ho, so I do know her?" Ethan laughed. "Boys, you've built up quite a mystery with this."  
  
Manning stood. "Well, the mystery is about to be solved." He motioned with his head to the entrance across the room.  
  
Still laughing, Ethan swivelled casually in his chair and prepared to find out who this woman was.  
  
But he wasn't prepared enough.  
  
He nearly choked when she closed the door quietly behind her and walked to stand beside George. Dressed in pin-striped grey slacks and a navy blue camisole, she made a stunning image with her hair draped over her shoulders. Her radiant smile bloomed, spread to her beautiful eyes. Those beautiful eyes he knew so well.  
  
"Nyah?" 


	2. Nyah Makes a Friend

Disclaimer: Ethan, Nyah and Luther may not be mine, but I'm going to borrow them for a while and play. ^_^  
  
Author's Notes: YAY you guys like it! Hehe, seriously though, the reviews and requests for more were so encouraging and uplifting (it really doesn't take much to get us writers going, does it?) that I felt guilty for not being able to write more right away. (I encountered a bit of a block on it, however, and then ff.net decided to go completely haywire, so posting took quite a while, and then I went on vacation. Everything was just conspiring against me, huh?) Even though it's summer, I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update, but I'll do my best. Oh, any suggestions for missions -- or titles, 'cause I suck at those -- would be great. (Yeah, "Mission: Impossible - III?" was about all I could think up when prompted, and I wanted to post quickly.) But most of all, I love feedback! Thanks to everyone who already reviewed! And specifically:  
  
jen - Hehe, I don't know where this is going to end, but I love Nyah too, so don't you worry, she's sticking around. (As for whether Ethan will have her or not, well, you'll just have to read and see.)  
  
darkangel - Hey, shameless plugging never hurt anyone. I certainly don't mind, since you did read and like and review my story. Thanks! (And keep writing! I'm very intrigued by your trilogy.)  
  
Oh, I saw Minority Report, and yay, Tom Cruise was really good in it. Ya know, it always makes you feel better when the stars of your favorite movie can actually act. *grin*  
  
Anyway, on with the show! (Yeah, finally.)  
  
  
Chapter 2: Nyah Makes a Friend  
  
  
  
The meeting had gone... smoothly. After Nyah's entrance and Ethan's initial shock, he had given Manning his full attention, asking the appropriate questions and asserting his own opinions. He'd even exchanged some easy banter with MacIntyre. Everything he normally did. Yes, the meeting had gone surprisingly smoothly.  
  
Too smoothly, Nyah thought.  
  
She rounded the corner, halted when she saw him. "Ethan!" she called out in the parking lot. Her voice echoed, reverberated through against the painted white cement until it was only a hollow imitation of herself.  
  
He stopped quietly, his back to her. "Yes?"  
  
She recognized the dangerous edge in his tone but swallowed her fears. An IMF agent didn't back down, she told herself. And that's what she was now: IMF. "Aren't we going to discuss this?"  
  
He clenched his jaw before answering. "I wasn't aware there was anything to discuss."  
  
The blunt dismissal stung. "Ethan..."  
  
"I won't be home til late."  
  
And that, she knew, was to be the last word.  
  
She watched his back move farther and farther away, listened to the calm, steady click of his shoes on the pavement. She heard a door close, and a car screech angrily out of the lot and into the street. She heard the scared, enraged honking of startled drivers.  
  
Then she put her face in her hands and just stood there, trying not to weep.  
  
  
  
  
  
Nothing more was said about it.  
  
Of all the ways Nyah had pictured it playing out, the tense omission of the subject had been ruled least likely, and least pleasant. She had hoped for a heated argument, maybe even the hurling of a few handy household items -- that ugly pink lamp they'd been given as a wedding present, for example -- which would have, of course, ended in Ethan's understanding and a very mutually satisfying evening of making up in the bedroom. Instead, Ethan had come home that night -- late, as he'd warned -- and quietly slipped into bed next to her. In the morning, they ate breakfast, read the papers, and basically went on just as before. Only without the warmth.  
  
It was, quite frankly, driving her mad.  
  
Fortunately, they were due for a meeting with MacIntyre at five o'clock that afternoon to discuss the mission and choose the other team members. Surely that would force Ethan to address her new position in the IMF, wouldn't it? Maybe he would come to understand and accept her decision, and, God forbid, even respect her on a professional level.  
  
Actually, she knew that her presence at the meeting was hardly required. George and Ethan, both veteran pointmen, were more than capable of picking the rest of the crew themselves. But Manning -- whether as a courtesy or a cruel joke was uncertain -- had named her as one of the heads, an equal, despite the fact that this was her first mission. He'd cited her past experience both as a thief and as an integral part of Operation Chimera as reason enough. Everyone knew that was a thin cover story.  
  
When four o'clock rolled around, Nyah began wondering how she was going to broach the subject of getting to the meeting. Riding in one car certainly wouldn't entail stimulating conversation -- or conversation of any kind, really -- but taking separate cars would mean something entirely different and much more unpleasant, not to mention provide grounds for speculation for anyone at IMF headquarters.  
  
Ethan, however, had already considered all this, much in advance, and had asked MacIntyre to meet at their apartment. George had agreed, and resolved internally to make no judgement on the matter, but when Nyah greeted him with a surprised "Oh, hello! What are you doing here?" he really couldn't help himself. Ethan hadn't told her, and that certainly signified something. If they were having hard times relationship-wise, he definitely needed to keep his eye on it. Not because he would be able to swoop in on Nyah -- contrary to popular belief, he did have a code of honor -- but because personal problems tended to affect team cohesion. And he'd be damned -- or more likely, killed -- if he ignored the potential risks of that kind of conflict.  
  
"Okay, let's get started," Ethan said in an amiable tone that betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil. "Who do we need?"  
  
George sat down at the circular glass table and pulled out a small Mead notebook like the kind that reporters used. At Ethan's amused look and Nyah's raised eyebrow, he said, "What? So I'm not gadgetized. Excuse me for not being into the whole high-tech world."  
  
Nyah smiled. "Don't worry about it. That's my role in this mission anyway."  
  
Ethan said nothing.  
  
Flipping through his notepad, MacIntyre read over his notes on the mission brief and quickly called out his findings. "Well, we've got mostly surveillance work, so we'll need two guy--" He caught himself, glanced at Nyah. "Er, two agents to watch the cameras and two to walk the beats. Nyah, you'll be in charge of that team, and Ethan and I will take care of the extraction."  
  
Nyah nodded.  
  
"Sounds good," Ethan joined in. "I want Marcus on this. He's one of the best footmen I know, and he can pick a pocket or a lock faster than you can blink."  
  
MacIntyre nodded and wrote the name down on a clean sheet. "What about Duncan? Or Mollini?"  
  
Ethan shook his head. "Duncan's fine, but Mollini broke his arm last week in Indonesia. I was thinking Daniel Perez could handle the screens with Duncan. They've worked pretty well together on a couple other missions, and Danny's good with both grunt work and cameras. So we just need one more to round out the team."  
  
George was writing and nodding simultaneously. "Any ideas on the fourth man?"  
  
"Westin?"  
  
"Nope. Wife's having a baby."  
  
"Oh really? I'll have to send them something." He frowned. "Bobby Chang?"  
  
"Doing some contract work for the Russians."  
  
"Gallegos?"  
  
"Vacation."  
  
"Lubjova?"  
  
"Vacation."  
  
"Nidee Kumar?"  
  
"Vacation."  
  
"Okay, so everyone else gets to go on vacation, but when I try, I get lectured?" Ethan clenched his jaw. "Yeah, that's fair. Anyway, I'm out of suggestions. You?"  
  
George shook his head.  
  
Until now, Nyah had been silent, respectfully acknowledging her lack of expertise and, really, right to participate. But now that the guys were out of ideas, she didn't see why she shouldn't offer an opinion or two. "Well," she began tentatively. Ethan and George both looked to her instantly, as if surprised she were still there. Trying to ignore that, she pressed on, "What about Eddie Burns? He helped Luther in training me. He'd be better on the technology end, but you said this Daniel Perez bloke was good at both. So he could partner Marcus, and Eddie and..." She peered at George's notepad. "Eddie and Duncan could work together."  
  
If they had been surprised that she'd spoken up, they were practically floored by her idea. Because it was a good one. Still, George hesitated at writing it down, until Ethan nodded, his face a mix of shock and grudging respect. "Great," he said, not giving Ethan the chance to change his mind. "Then we're done, we've got our team." He stood, slipping the notebook into his shirt's breast pocket. "I'll notify IMF, and we'll head out tomorrow."  
  
Nyah and Ethan walked him to the door in silence, but just before they closed the door, George impulsively called out, "Good job, Nyah." He gave a casual wave, as if to diminish the significance of his support for her, but Nyah beamed anyway.  
  
Fortunately, she missed Ethan's sour expression. 


End file.
